Words Under Pressure #13

It must be relief at getting the last quilting job done, but I seem to have come over all verbal…


Come, illuminate me again.
Paint the sky in morning colour,
Roll out before me
Spring’s tender green carpet.

Show my autumn heart
A new, triumphant gold
Gleaming among the clouds,
A warm finger touching the earth.

Banish the grey and dust,
The discarded husks of past years.
The glorious butterfly
Waits quietly in her cell.


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